


Idle Hands

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Nipple Play, Playful Sex, Smut, Television Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zach fails to be sneaky and Chris misses the end of his show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the nippleplay square on my Kink Bingo 2010 card

He tries to move his hand slowly enough that Chris won’t notice.  First, he lets it rest on Chris’ hip; it’s a natural-enough position, the way they’re spooned across the couch to watch TV, Chris in front of Zach.  Then, when Chris yawns and stretches, Zach lets his hand drop down in front of Chris, knuckles just barely brushing Chris’ belly.  A few minutes later, Zach shifts, bringing his hand tighter against Chris’ stomach, against the sliver of skin where his shirt’s ridden up.  At this point, it would almost be unnatural if he _didn’t_ let his fingers brush rhythmically over the warm, soft skin, working ever so slightly upwards…

“Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Busted.  Damn.  Zach still tries to play innocent.  “What am I doing?”

“Oh my god, Zach, I’m trying to watch this show.”

“Am I somehow interfering with that?  Am I blocking your view?  Drowning out the sound?”

“Fucking _fine_ ,” Chris groans.  “But don’t expect any mercy from me come Shark Week.”

Zach grins against Chris’ hair and pushes his hand farther up Chris’ shirt, all pretense gone.  He starts on the left, letting the very tip of his index finger circle around Chris’ nipple until he feels the delicate skin start to pucker and tighten.  Chris tries to muffle a sigh, but is entirely unsuccessful.

Really, Zach owes a debt of gratitude to whoever designed those red cadet uniforms, because they were scratchy as shit.  Hot, too.  In fact, much too hot to wear an t-shirt underneath.

“Motherfucker,” Chris had groaned, stripping off the much-hated shirt.  “I am chafing like a bastard.  Are you chafing like a bastard?”

“Captain, I am unfamiliar with the manner in which an individual with unmarried parents experiences dermal friction,” Zach said.  Chris hated the Spock voice.  Hated it so much he _loved_ it, Zach was sure.

“Seriously, asshole, are your nipples not abraded to the point of pain?  I’m gonna need Band-Aids.  Maybe some ice.”  It was at that moment that he turned around, and Zach knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be teasing those perfect, candy-pink buds on a regular basis.

That was close to six months ago, and Zach’s still not tired of his favorite toys.  For the moment, he’s moved on to the right one and Chris has progressed from sighing to soft, unwilling grunts every time Zach flicks his finger.  Some CSI person or other blathers on from the TV, but Zach couldn’t care less.  He’s pretty sure the crazy ex-wife did it, anyway.

Out of respect for Chris’ weird procedural drama addiction, he waits until the third act to actually start pinching.  Lightly at first, of course, but enough to make Chris twist on the couch, trying to press his hips into the cushions without pulling too far away from Zach’s hand.  Zach waits until the final explanatory monologue to start rolling them, one at a time, between his thumb and forefinger.  By now, Chris is groaning so loudly that he probably can’t hear the TV anyway, so Zach sits up and executes a quick, neat maneuver that has Chris flat on his back on the couch and Zach straddling his pelvis.  He’s had some practice at this.

“You need to take up crossword puzzles,” Chris grunts, even as he strips off his shirt.  “Or knitting.  Or _something_.  There’s gonna come a time where you’re bored and you don’t have my nips to play with.”

Zach pouts.  “Why do you say such mean things to me?  Especially when I’m just trying to get you off.”

“Because you’re just so damn altruistic and I’m an ungrateful wretch.”

“Exactly,” Zach says with glee, finally able to use both hands.  He’s got Chris worked up enough that he can twist both nipples pretty hard now, getting them nice and sore for his mouth.

Chris moans and arches underneath him.  “Will you at least let me take my pants off?”

“Only if you’re good,” Zach hums.  He hasn’t really got anything in mind for what constitutes “good,” he just doesn’t particularly feel like moving off of Chris’ hips.

“Please don’t make me come in my pa- _haaaaants_ again,” Chris yelps as Zach plays him like a radio dial, increasing the volume.

“Your pants are not that great anyway,” Zach says, stopping to plant his hands on either sides of Chris torso and lean forward.  “Their sartorial worth is not greatly depreciated by your spunk.”

Chris squints up at him.  “Are you criticizing my choice of pants?  Really?  You of the 8 by 12 pockets and the skinny hipst _nnnnnnngh_.”

All it takes to derail Chris is a quick lick over one nipple and then a soft puff of air.  Really, it’s almost criminally easy, so Zach repeats it on the other one.  He goes back and forth for a few moments until Chris manages to get a hold of a throw pillow and wallop him over the head with it and Zach figures he probably needs to step it up.  When he finally quits teasing and fastens his lips for a good, hard suck, Chris wails like an air raid siren and bucks up so hard Zach has to clench his thighs to hold on.

One day, Zach is going to see if he can make Chris come without touching anything but his nipples.  This day will have to be one in which Zach has the forethought to get himself off first, because he can’t watch Chris writhe so prettily without needing to hump him into the floor.  Zach shifts his weight and curls his spine so he can rub his bulge against Chris’ and suck on him at the same time.

When Zach brings his teeth into the equation – gently, but even so – it becomes readily apparent that Chris is not going to get his wish on this particular evening regarding his pants.  His arms flail while his hips go suddenly rigid and still, and while Zach can’t feel the hot, wet patch through his own jeans, just knowing that it’s there is enough to send him over the edge.  He does, however, manage to keep from biting down as they both ride it out, thrusting roughly against each other.

Zach flattens his tongue and laps gently at each nipple as orgasm fades into afterglow, Chris gurgling inarticulately with pleasure beneath him.

“You son of a bitch,” Chris snaps.  “I just washed these.”  Well, maybe not so inarticulate.

Zach sighs – Chris can be so bizarrely single-minded at times.  What’s up with that?  “Mine didn’t fare any better.  Does that make you happy, o reluctant launderer?”

“It does,” Chris laughs, yanking Zach down for a kiss.  His tongue is almost as much fun to suck on.

Almost.


End file.
